


The Balls of the Bel

by David Hines (hradzka)



Category: Lois McMaster Bujold - Vorkosigan series
Genre: Other, Yuletide, challenge:Yuletide 2008, recipient:anotherusedpage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-25
Updated: 2008-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-02 21:11:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hradzka/pseuds/David%20Hines
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bel Thorne comes to visit Miles.  Ivan flirts with everyone he finds attractive.  Miles feels a sudden need to drink heavily.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Balls of the Bel

**Author's Note:**

> Written for anotherusedpage in the Yuletide 2008 Challenge. Thanks to Kristen for the beta, and to Ness for advice on the title.

"Bel," said Miles Vorkosigan impatiently, "this is the absolute worst time you could have picked for an unexpected visit."

"All the more reason for me to come," said Bel Thorne cheerfully. The hermaphrodite flung its suitcase onto the guest bed -- one of the guest beds -- and rummaged through the bag for its case of toiletries. "What better time to distract you from the miseries of life?"

"It's not the miseries of life that concern me," said Miles. "It's the Emperor's Winterfair Ball. I have to be there. Tonight, Bel!"

"Marvelous," said Bel. "I packed my dress uniform. It's wonderfully tailored. Accentuates everything."

Miles shuddered to imagine the reaction of the more hidebound aristocrats to a well-accentuated Betan hermaphrodite. He saw insults, fights, riots. A lynching. Or, more likely, an attempted but gruesomely aborted lynching by old drunks who talked big but had never met a combat-hardened hermaphrodite who habitually carried firearms in the most unexpected places.

The com channel bleeped. Miles flipped the screen on, desperate for relief. The sight of Emperor Gregor Vorbarra would have been calming, except for the fact that next to him was Miles's mother. "Ah, Miles," said Gregor. "There you are. I wanted to let you know personally about some changes I'm making to ceremonies at the Winterfair Ball this year -- they're minor, but I wanted to let you know because it'll change your part in things a little. Your mother has convinced me it's time to shake things up."

Miles said faintly, "You have no idea."

"Don't be ridiculous, Miles," said his mother. "Gregor sent everything to you by mail six days ago. You haven't replied. We just wanted to make sure you knew."

Miles hadn't glanced at his mail in a week. "Have to miss it this year," said Miles. "Sorry. My friend Bel's in town. I couldn't just -- "

"Duck out on your obligations?" said his mother. "Nonsense. Miles, do come. And bring your friend." Gregor nodded his agreement firmly. The com channel blinked off before Miles had a chance to object. He turned slowly back to Bel.

"A party indeed!" said Bel. "Well, this is unexpected. I hope my uniform is good enough to wear. The cream of Barrayaran society. I'd better shave." It turned cheerfully to the mirror and began lathering up its peach fuzz.

"Bel," said Miles desperately, "this isn't Beta Colony. There will be people at this party _who will want to kill you_."

"Well, yes, of course. But that's what sidearms are for, isn't it? Don't you still have dueling here?"

"Not so much. Traditionally, it's fought with two swords. But that's illegal."

Bel laughed. "I'm sure it is! What's the punishment?"

"They put you in stocks and let you starve to death. In public."

Bel's hands stilled, for an instant, on its fine jawline. "Ah," it said. "Well, I'm sure they couldn't possibly object to a few friends stepping into the garden with me to compare our fine weapons. Unfortunate, the effect of drink on firearm safety. Terrible accidents happen all the time."

"I..." Miles shook his head. "Look, you've been on Barrayar how long, five minutes?"

"Forty-seven."

"You're _already thinking like one of us_."

"Well," said Bel with a stunning smile, "I'm nothing if not cosmopolitan."

Miles left the room and weakly made his way down the hall in the direction of the liquor cabinet.

* * *

The Winterfair Ball was in full swing. Miles, glass in hand, took a moment to admire the view: the Emperor, resplendent in his royal seat, the glittering crystal of the chandelier and of the glasses, the jewelry and dresses of the women, the fine suits of the men, the tastefully ornate decor, the hermaphrodite, garbed in impeccably-tailored crimson accentuated by a startling number of military decorations.

"I say," said Bel. "This is absolutely delightful. A little old-fashioned, but that's part of the Barrayaran charm, isn't it?" It paused to beam at two passing women, who blushed and giggled, before smiling at a handsome young man who returned Bel's smile with some puzzlement.

The Emperor beckoned discreetly. Miles swallowed the lump in his throat and obeyed the summons. "I'll be back," he said. Bel waved a hand in dismissal.

"You might," said Gregor when Miles approached, "have mentioned that your friend is hermaphroditic."

"You didn't exactly give me _time_," Miles pointed out. "Beside, Bel can take care of itself."

"I'm not worried about that," said Gregor. "It's one of your friends, after all. I'm wondering what we're going to do with all the _bodies_."

"We'll stash 'em somewhere easy to find," said Miles. "Blame it on on some political faction that's giving you trouble, frame somebody you don't like -- " He broke off. "Oh, God."

"What?" said Gregor.

"Bel's talking to Ivan. Bel's flirting with Ivan. Bel's... oh, God, Bel's _dancing_ with Ivan."

Gregor blinked. He glanced across the dance floor. The Emperor couldn't look at any one area too long, or risk causing social strife. He looked at one group, then another, and then settled on Bel and Miles's cousin Ivan Vorpatril for a safely non-scandalous five seconds. "Well," he said. "That is a rather interesting pair, isn't it?" He frowned thoughtfully. "Of course, if Ivan takes it home quickly we should avoid any major conflagrations here. It's a tempting thought, I'm afraid."

But Miles had visions of several ways this could end; all of them were bad. Ivan was thick enough that he could lead Bel on without meaning to, and Miles didn't want to deal with a heartbroken Bel tonight. "I think I should go to the rescue," Miles said faintly.

"Yes," murmured Gregor, "but whose?"

By the time Miles had made his way through the mob to Ivan's side, the dance had ended and Bel had gone to get a drink. Ivan was watching it walk through the crowd. "Your friend Miss Thorne is lovely," Ivan said. "A little butch, but not bad. D'y'know, all the girls think she's a boy? The Koudelkas were telling me they're all going ga-ga for 'him' in the ladies' room. Can't believe they didn't recognize a girl playing at being a boy when they see one."

"Erm," said Miles.

"Listen," said Ivan, "I know she came here with you, but I was wondering -- "

"She's got a penis, Ivan," said Miles. Ivan laughed. "No," said Miles desperately. "Really."

Ivan laughed again. "Well, that's a good one. No, really; I've never had anybody try to put me off that way. Seriously, are you getting anywhere with her?"

Miles stared at Ivan, his mouth open. Ivan could be thick, but this was a new standard even for him. For once in his life, Miles found no words at all.

"All right then!" said Ivan. "Well, time to show the Betan girl what real Barrayaran manhood is all about, eh?"

Miles shook his head as he brought his hand up and slid his face into the center of his own palm. "Look," he said through his hand. "Just don't tell me I didn't warn you."

_Oh, God_, Miles thought as Ivan made his way through the crowd with an air of purpose and determination. _I've got to warn **Bel**_.

Warning Bel, it turned out, was unnecessary. The crowd was too thick for Miles to fight his way through, so he was forced to ditch his drink and run to the outside to skirt the edge. By the time Miles had arrived to a spot with a good view, Bel and Ivan were dancing again, and Ivan was laying it on thick. "You're the prettiest girl at the ball," said Ivan warmly.

"Girl?" said Bel.

"Woman, then. Uniform at a Winterfair ball. Way to shake things up. I love the way it -- accentuates..." Ivan's long glance down Bel's form hesitated at crotch level. Miles braced for the explosion. "-- oh. Might want to talk to your tailor about that."

Bel hesitated, then leaned forward and whispered in Ivan's ear.

Ivan came to a dead halt mid-step. The blood rushed from his cheeks. He stared at Bel, looking up and down again. Bel smiled and shrugged. At precisely that moment, the music stopped. Bel released Ivan's hand, stepped back, and applauded the musicians. Ivan, stunned, didn't clap. As Bel stepped away and invited a blushing young woman to dance -- God, thought Miles, it was true, the men thought Bel was a forward young woman masquerading as a boy and the women thought Bel was a young man with amazing taste in clothing -- Ivan staggered across the floor to Miles.

"It's not fair," Ivan said. "The girls like her. They like her better than _me_."

"Bel's not a 'her,' Ivan."

"Right, the penis. That makes her a 'he,' then."

"Not a 'he.' Herms actually prefer 'it.' Bel does, anyway."

Bel and the young woman danced by, spinning joyously. Ivan looked after them. "Bel?!" said Ivan. At last, Miles saw the penny drop. "You didn't tell me that was _Bel_ Thorne," said Ivan accusingly.

"Ivan," said Miles patiently, "I told you that Bel Thorne dropped in unexpectedly. I told you before that Bel Thorne is a hermaphrodite. I told you that 'Miss Thorne,' with whom I'd shown up, had a penis. I would expect that even you would be capable of putting those pieces of information together."

"A hermaphrodite?" said Ivan. "Really?"

"Yes," said Miles. The dance ended. Bel and the young woman parted, and Bel stepped away. "So go explain your reaction. Be polite. Be kind. Then say goodnight. Don't hurt its feelings, Ivan."

Ivan nodded. He walked nervously over to Bel, who turned and regarded him with polite interest. Miles watched in horror. This would be bad, he knew. This would be very bad.

"I, er," said Ivan. "Look, I'm sorry, I just didn't know about the. You know."

"That's quite all right," said Bel. "It happens."

Ivan said, "I'm really sorry."

"I'm not."

Ivan hesitated. "You're what?"

"I'm not sorry. You're a very handsome man. I would absolutely give you a complete and thorough tumble."

"I," said Ivan. "Must be going. You... you... you have a penis." He turned and began to shuffle awkwardly away. Miles closed his eyes and screwed them tightly shut. He managed to open one eye just a slit. He couldn't bear to watch any more than that.

"Ivan," said Bel. Ivan turned and looked. "I do have the other one, too," Bel said.

Ivan froze, his mouth open. His jaw worked for a moment, and then he turned away and hastened off to a conversation with a short, curvaceous Barrayaran girl, who seemed thrilled to partner with him. Bel raised a glass as they danced by. Ivan, though the girl was in his arms, seemed little relieved.

That should have settled the issue. Except, Miles noted, Ivan kept sneaking glances at Bel. Later in the evening, Miles saw Ivan take a step or two in Bel's direction, then think better of it. The third time Ivan didn't think better, and his furtive whisper caused Miles to spit the sip he'd just taken of his drink into a potted plant.

"Look," Ivan said, "if you were to er, give me a tumble -- well, as you do have the... the female -- any chance I could just ignore that other bit? You know."

"Oh, no."

Ivan blinked. "What?"

"Ivan, if you want to go to bed with me, you'll have to pay quite a bit of careful attention to that bit. Stroking it, teasing it, caressing it, sucking on it. I'm afraid there's no way around it. Well, under it, yes, but you have to be gentle when you lift up the sac; of course, for artist's hands like yours..."

Ivan said, "Oh, God," and scurried off.

Miles found a corner and began to drink very heavily.

* * *

"Artist's hands?" said Ivan, sidling up to Bel much later. "Really?"

Miles downed the rest of his drink. The floor was slanting, he noticed. Have to speak to Gregor about that. Gregor, he noted, wasn't there any more. There was a statue that looked exactly like Gregor sitting where Gregor was supposed to sit, and it was frowning. It seemed to be frowning at Miles. It wasn't fair. He'd done everything he could do. He deserved to get drunk. This was out of his control.

"Artist's hands," said Bel. "Capable, graceful, strong. Do you do any sculpting? You should. Run those hands all over your model. Get a feeling for the body's symmetry. Translate that into an expression of your passion."

Ivan said, "Umph."

Miles put down his glass and picked up a bottle. When he looked up from it, Bel and Ivan were gone.

* * *

When he heard the front door open, much, much later that night, Miles grinned fiendishly through the leftover haze of his drunk. Bel, he knew, would be full of regret and shame after finding out what Ivan was really like in private. But the new arrival wasn't Bel Thorne. It was Ivan. And he wasn't trudging with his head down. He was -- skipping?

"We're getting married!" Ivan said.

Miles, who had been lurking in one of his father's more imposing chairs while eagerly awaiting the inevitable walk of shame, boggled in the middle of his dramatic spin into visibility, over-corrected the chair's rotation, and came within a hair's breadth of shattering his jaw against the corner of the desk. "Ivan," he said, "have you gone mad?"

"Mad with love," said Ivan. "I can't help it. Bel's got everything I like."

"Everything you like," said Miles incredulously. "And a penis."

"It's not a bad penis," Ivan said defensively. "Not like it's malformed or anything." He shrugged. "Mine's bigger, of course."

Miles rested his elbows on the table and cupped his palms in front of his face. Carefully, he leaned forward, sliding his head into his hands.

"What," said Ivan, "you're telling me that you never got pie-eyed drunk when you were in the Academy and -- " he realized Miles was staring in shock, and his voice trailed off. " -- and. And had a discussion. About women. And only them. Ever."

"Ivan," said Miles, "what are you doing here? You have an apartment. You're not staying here. Bel's staying here."

"Bel just asked me to come get her -- its -- things," Ivan said. "It's going to stay with me for the rest of its time here."

"Ivan," said Miles carefully, "the things it left here consist of a small bag containing travel clothing, dirty underwear, and a toiletry kit. Bel is on a transit jaunt that just passed through the system. It just came down for the day while its ship was docked at the LBO station. It should be leaving _now_."

"That's ridiculous," said Ivan. "Bel's in my apartment." He stared at Miles incomprehendingly. Then he hurried to the com and punched in his codes. There was no answer. Ivan triggered the camera. The apartment was empty. Ivan blinked. He fumbled for the buttons, and keyed in the number for his building's doorman. "I say, Mikhail," he said, "have you seen the... er, the person I came home with?"

Miles couldn't hear the reply. He didn't need to.

Ivan said, "What do you mean, she's GONE?!"

* * *

"I hear that your herm captain is back among the stars," Gregor said. "Is Ivan's heart irreparably broken?"

"No more than usual, I think," said Miles. "He'll be over it in a day or six."

"Well," said Gregor, "at least Ivan's quick exit with your friend solved my urgent problem. It's a shame he was loved and left, and by shame I mean 'great and utter relief to me that I don't have to figure out a public stance on it.'"

"I had never pictured Bel as the love 'em and leave 'em type," said Miles. "I think Bel would have stayed at least a week, if it hadn't been horribly inconvenient."

The door opened behind him. Ivan stepped in. "Better go," Miles said to Gregor. He saw the emperor's smile as the com blinked off.

"I," said Ivan, "am off hermaphrodites."

"Yes," said Miles, "good."

"Completely, totally off."

"Good."

"I'm going to hide for about six weeks."

"Don't be silly," Miles said. "You need to get some fresh air. Don't just hide in a corner. Go out on the balcony, at least."

Ivan stepped out on the balcony and looked down below. "Huh," he said. "Tourist season!"

Miles followed him onto the balcony and looked where Ivan pointed. An off-world tourist group was passing. Miles was startled to see that a quaddie -- no legs, four arms, engineered for zero-g; Miles had never seen one on-world as it would have been unthinkable only a few years ago, and it was still a shock -- was part of the tour. The quaddie was female, and blonde.

Ivan eyed the quaddie speculatively. "Hmm," he said. "Not bad."

Miles blanched.

"What?" said Ivan. "She's got four hands! Imagine what she can do with 'em! ...Miles? Where are you going?"

Miles grabbed a bottle from the wine rack and retreated to the comfort of the library, where he turned off the com and sank into the deepest armchair he could find. Drinking heavily, he thought, seemed like the best way to avoid any responsibility for the upcoming mess.

After all, it had worked so well before.


End file.
